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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30019401">I Don't Want You Like A Best Friend</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders'>UniverseOnHerShoulders</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Prompt Fills [76]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Flirting, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:27:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,779</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30019401</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Returning to the TARDIS covered in muck and slime, the Doctor and the Master do the only sensible thing: they put their clothes in the wash to avoid a spaceship-sized sulk. Squeezed into the Doctor's spare clothes, the Master is determined to have some fun while they wait for their laundry to finish... only 'fun' is here a relative term.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Prompt Fills [76]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/585397</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Don't Want You Like A Best Friend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>An expansion of <a href="https://universe-on-her-shoulders.tumblr.com/post/629070923902926848/85-13the-master">this drabble.</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This is fetching,” the Master said sourly, plucking at the t-shirt he’d squeezed into against the Doctor’s better judgement. The rainbow stripe across the chest was stretched across his torso, and the shirt ended an inch or so above the waistband of Ryan’s joggers, which were the only trousers the TARDIS had consented to provide after the… incident. The Doctor couldn’t blame her ship; she wasn’t feeling particularly benevolent towards her oldest friend either, especially after the day’s antics.</p><p>The Master’s clothes were currently swirling round and round with the Doctor’s in one of the enormous washing machines aboard the ship. Every so often there would be a flash of bright purple or teal as something particularly luridly-coloured swirled past the door; the water was a strange shade of green, which the Doctor supposed was the last of the Mercurian swamp-mud coming free from the fabric, but she tried not to dwell on any long-term staining that might occur, or how long the drying process would take. The two Time Lords had been on Mercury-14 for entirely unrelated reasons – possibly not that unrelated, the Doctor couldn’t help but suspect – when they’d bumped into each other, and the usual chaos had ensued.</p><p>Faced with two filthy Gallifreyans, the TARDIS had unwillingly spat one complete change of clothes at the Doctor, and only consented to provide anything at all for the Master when the Doctor had pointed out that the alternative was one very naked Time Lord while the wash-and-dry cycle completed. The ship had mentally shuddered, and chucked out a pink t-shirt and the joggers by way of appeasement. The Doctor resolved to take Ryan shopping the next time she saw him; the chances of him regaining these particular tracksuit bottoms was low, and even if the Master did deign to give them back, he was more likely than not to have tampered with them. Ryan might suddenly find himself with goat legs, or no legs at all, or worse.</p><p>“It’s the best I could do,” the Doctor muttered, pushing the sleeves of her white undershirt up her arms and settling back in her seat with a scowl. “It’s that or you can sit around topless. You choose.”</p><p>The Master made a motion as if to remove the t-shirt, and she let out a yelp of complaint as his fingers curled around the hem. She wasn’t entirely averse to the general idea, but then he’d undoubtedly try something seductive, and she still wanted to smack him for his general idiocy back on Mercury-14. She tried not to think about the fact he’d probably enjoy that.</p><p>“Alright,” he tutted, then tipped her a wink accompanied by a winning smirk that, annoyingly, did somewhat diminish her rage a degree or so. “You’ve never been that bothered by me with my top off before.”</p><p>The Doctor flushed crimson, but said nothing. She could feel her cheeks burning Mars-red, and she willed her usual colour to return, but her body seemed entirely determined to embarrass her and prolong her humiliation. Stupid new regeneration.</p><p>“Your taste in clothes is awful,” the Master noted cheerfully, either ignoring her embarrassment or working up to something worse. She wasn’t sure which was a more worrying prospect. “Maybe next time we should regenerate together and get matching outfits.”</p><p>“What if-”</p><p>“What if we’re opposite genders again?” the Master rolled his eyes. “Please, you should know better than most that the entire idea of gendered clothing is a quaint little thing invented by humans as part of a capitalist marketing project in the mid-twentieth century. Not to mention the idea of gender is distinctly outdated, or have you forgotten that while rattling around with your little pets? So sweet, this notion of two genders. Perhaps I could blow their minds with the Time Lord concept of gender theory. Hopefully literally.”</p><p>“Don’t be so…”</p><p>“So, what? So me? Please, don’t try to act like you’re surprised, Doctor. You know I’ve never liked your pets.”</p><p>“They’re not pets!” she protested hotly. “They’re my friends!”</p><p>“No, they’re not,” he said in a low, dangerous tone. “I’m your friend. How can you call those ridiculous, pathetic little creatures friends? They’re not anywhere near good enough for you. Silly little lifespans, and brains that work more slowly than… well, I’m sure there’s a lovely Earth analogy you could supply here, but I don’t have one to hand; I don’t like to go as native as you. They aren’t fit for anything other than to worship you, but then I suppose that’s why you keep them around, isn’t it? The fawning adulation; the way they look at you like a god. I don’t blame you. The girl is pretty, and you’re nice enough to look at. I can see why she’s madly in love with you.”</p><p>“Yaz isn’t…” the Doctor blinks hard, disconcerted by the assertion, and equal parts angry and indignant at his cruel words about her friends. “She’s not… they’re not…”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t think the poor girl really realises it yet, but she’s totally in love with you. I read her mind, remember? Back on the motorbikes on the way to the party…”</p><p>“You had no right to-”</p><p>“Oh, please. She was practically flinging herself at me, desperate for the attention. She was so pleased to have someone actually look at her and <em>see</em> her; she was hoping, you know, that it might make you jealous. Did it?”</p><p>“No,” the Doctor said sulkily, although she had to admit that the way Yaz had stared at the Master with wide-eyed admiration had stung. </p><p>“Liar,” the Master countered. “Oh, they always fall for you, don’t they? I should have killed her; that would’ve been fun. I could’ve told you all about the way the life left her eyes, how she screamed for-”</p><p>“Stop it,” the Doctor snarled, her temper fraying. “I know you don’t like sharing, but you’re not sharing me now, so why are you wasting time talking about my friends like this?”</p><p>“Because I despise them,” the Master said, as though it were obvious, tilting his head to the side as he spoke and regarding her coolly. “Because they have everything I want, and they’re unworthy of your love.”</p><p>“What, and you think you <em>are</em> worthy?”</p><p>“I know I was once. Or have you forgotten that?”</p><p>There was a terse pause as the Doctor remembered the Academy; remembered illicit kisses, stolen moments, and sharing a too-narrow single bed.</p><p>“We’re not having matching outfits,” she said evasively, refusing to play his games.</p><p>The Master shook his head, still smirking, “We both know I’d look very fetching in stockings,” he hummed, apparently willing to let the subject drop. Perhaps he knew the damage was done; perhaps he was bored; or perhaps he was plotting something. Perhaps all three. The Doctor put nothing past him.  </p><p>“You wouldn’t be you,” she noted tartly. “You’d be…”</p><p>“I might be even sexier,” the Master grinned, looking maddeningly pleased to have drawn her into discussing the matter. “And as for you… well, it couldn’t be any worse.”</p><p>The Doctor threw a nearby washing basket at his head, which the Master snagged from midair with contemptuous ease.</p><p>“Right,” he said warningly, setting it down on his lap and glowering at her. “For that, I’m taking the shirt off…”</p><p>“No,” the Doctor protested feebly, but before she could lunge forward and stop him, he’d peeled off the t-shirt and deposited it on the floor at his feet.</p><p>“Why,” the Doctor began in exasperation, trying fervently not to stare and willing herself not to blush. Apparently spurred on by her silent threats, her body obliged. It was difficult to <em>not </em>look at the Master though; she’d been conditioned to understand that looking at people when you spoke to them was polite, and it was impossible to look at him and not look at <em>that</em>. “Do you even have a six-pack?”</p><p>“Regeneration is a lottery,” the Master purred. “Did you not ever get one?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“My hearts bleed for you.”</p><p>“Why would I want one?”</p><p>“I don’t know. Why are you staring at mine?”</p><p>The Doctor’s body betrayed her and she turned a shade of pink to rival the discarded t-shirt, dropping her gaze to her lap. “I wasn’t… staring,” she mumbled, feeling utterly humiliated to have been caught out. “I…”</p><p>“No, I’d say more… ogling.”</p><p>“I wasn’t doing that either!” she argued, her head snapping up and her eyes boring into the Master’s, raising her eyebrows in a silent challenge. “You took your shirt off and you expected me not to stare?”</p><p>“Oh, I’m not complaining. I just think it’s unfair that I’m sat here with no shirt, and you’ve got <em>two</em> on.”</p><p>“I’m not taking mine off. Either of them.”</p><p>“Oh?” he said softly, but his words had an edge to them that made her shiver as she realised what he was about to do, and wondered whether she had the strength – or the desire – to resist. “Am I going to have to make you?”</p><p>“No,” she shook her head hard, trying to ignore the soft, insidious way that his words were echoing in her mind. “No, you’re…”</p><p>“Stand up.”</p><p>Against her better judgement, she did so, and the Master mirrored the movement, standing nose to nose with her, their eyes locking as they tried to get the measure of each other. She knew what he was doing; she’d been hypnotised by him – both literally and metaphorically – enough times to recognise that, but she no longer had the energy to resist the lure of his words, not after all that had happened on Mercury-14. The Master’s mouth twitched into a smile, and he raised his hand and settled it on her cheek, skimming his thumb along the line of her jaw and ignoring the way she tensed up under his touch. His palm felt scaldingly hot; how was it possible he could be that warm? How was it possible that she was leaning into the touch; that she found herself craving more of it; that she found herself wondering… wondering… wondering…</p><p>“I suggested you do something,” the Master said quietly, his expression vulnerable as he cupped her face. “Didn’t I?”</p><p>The Doctor nodded as his thumb brushed across her lower lip.</p><p>“And I asked if I was going to have to make you.”</p><p>She nodded mutely again.</p><p>“Are you going to be good?” he whispered. “Or am I going to have to…”</p><p>The soft, suggestive tone was gone from his words now; all that remained was an undercurrent of danger that added bite to the question. He wasn’t threatening her – not yet, at any rate – but she knew he was testing her; seeing how far he could push before she snapped, taking pleasure in watching her grow increasingly wound up. He’d always loved to do this; always loved to needle and wheedle and then sit back to watch the fireworks; she still remembered how he’d enjoyed taking her to bed after her outbursts of temper, and how much she’d enjoyed those particular nights.</p><p>Setting her jaw, she gritted her teeth and peeled off both her t-shirt and undershirt in one fluid movement, dropping them onto the floor without breaking eye contact. He let out a long, contented sigh, as though her doing so had lifted a weight from his chest, and she resisted the urge to fold her arms across her upper body protectively, instead forcing herself to stand proud and tall as he flicked his eyes downwards in a silent appraisal.</p><p>“Good girl.”</p><p>She gasped at the visceral shock of his words and then stepped backwards, her hand connecting with his cheek before she could even register what she was doing. He didn’t so much as flinch as the slap echoed around the room; merely raised his own hand to his face and settled it over the stinging red handprint on the side of his face and rubbed experimentally.</p><p>“Do you feel better now?” he asked softly, his tone mocking. “Did that help you get your anger out, or do you want to hit me again? I don’t object either way.”</p><p>“Why can’t you just…” she punched him in the shoulder this time, hoping he might enjoy it less, but he looked down at the site of impact with detached disinterest, and she felt her anger boil over. Punching him again and then shoving him with all of her might, he didn’t so much as sway on the spot, and as she began to rain blows down on his torso, he caught both of her hands in his own and gripped them hard; not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to serve as a warning as to what he could do. “Just… react! Do something normal!” </p><p>“When have I ever been normal?”</p><p>The Doctor squirmed, but his grip on her only tightened.</p><p>“When have you ever wanted me to be normal?” he continued in a taunting voice. “And when have you ever met that criteria yourself? We aren’t normal, Doctor. We’re the gods of time, and the sooner you accept that… the sooner you cede to the fact that we’re the last of our people left, and we can do as we wish… the better.”</p><p>“I don’t want… we’re not… you…”</p><p>“Stop protesting,” he told her sternly. “And just… let go.”</p><p>“Says the m-”</p><p>He kissed her before she could react, and for a millisecond, she kissed him back; she forgot all that he’d done and all the pain he had caused her, before realisation crashed over her like a tidal wave, red-hot and excruciating. She bit down on his lip until she tasted blood, then yanked sharply away from him, striding towards the console room with her fists clenched at her sides.</p><p>The Master trotted after her, laughing  breathlessly as he did so.</p><p>“Come on,” he drawled, wiping his bleeding lip on the back of his hand. “You were enjoying that, admit it.”</p><p>“Get out of my ship.”</p><p>“I’m not even wearing a shirt,” he raised his eyebrows, looking faux-horrified. “People might… talk.”</p><p>“I don’t care.”</p><p>“I’m bleeding.”</p><p>“That was your fault.”</p><p>“You <em>bit </em>me!”</p><p>“And I’ll do it again,” the Doctor snapped, wheeling around to face him and folding her arms as she scowled at him. This would perhaps be more intimidating if she were fully clothed, and she swore internally. “If you don’t get off my ship.”</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Please do it again,” the Master said sincerely, his eyes wide and alight with mischief, longing and smugness. “Please bite me-”</p><p>Her hand swung towards him but he caught it with ease, lacing his fingers through hers and smiling lazily.</p><p>“I’m going to kiss you again now,” he told her. “And if you want to bite me again, fine, but at least take me to bed first.”</p><p>“You arrogant, egotistical-”</p><p>He pulled her towards him and this time was different. This wasn’t like the first kiss; this was somewhere approaching gentle, or perhaps even shy; she could taste the blood where she’d bitten him, but something else too; something visceral and long-forgotten but achingly familiar, and she allowed him to settle one hand on her waist and the other on the back of her neck, holding her to him like he never wanted to let go. It had been so long since she’d been touched like this, kissed like this, held like this that she couldn’t help but melt, her defences coming down as she allowed herself to forget all that he’d done and who he’d become in favour of simply remembering who they used to be when they’d done this so many times before.</p><p>“I win,” the Master murmured in her ear as they broke apart for the briefest of seconds. “Don’t I?”</p><p>“Shut up,” she breathed, pulling him back down to her and kissing him hungrily. “Although maybe… maybe we ought to… find my room…”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>She’d half-hoped he might still be there the next morning, but the Doctor awoke to an empty bed. Rolling over, she found nothing but a dent in the pillow where the Master’s head had been, and although she could still feel the lingering ghost of his arms around her waist, she knew he was long gone. At the foot of the bed were her clothes, neatly pressed and folded, and a piece of notepaper. Snatching it up, she read and re-read the words there.</p><p>
  <em>I like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it. Find me again on Rigel 9a; you’ll know when.</em>
</p><p>Sighing, she flopped back in bed, the paper clutched to her chest.</p><p>She’d go, of course.</p><p>She’d hate herself, but she’d go.</p>
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